As I got up and started putting on my coat, one of my friends looked at me, "I can't believe you made it, " she said matter-of-factly. Then realizing the possible implications of what she had said she started stammering and soon became an incoherent mess. I smiled, "Neither can I."
What I really meant was, I can't believe I finally finished it - I can't believe it's wearable and I can't believe it fits. I'm still in denial about the whole thing.
It took me nine months. I checked. I'm a bit in denial about the process too. It didn't seem that long. I mean, I have a gazillion reasons why it took so long. Some of them are incredibly valid. You can't sew when your machine goes on the blitz and you have to take it apart and put it back together to get it going again. It takes awhile to figure out that the machine is going to need to be serviced and it won't just fix itself. I even asked it nicely. In return it jammed and tried to eat my fabric. Then it broke the needle for good measure. I may have said some rude things. I may have threatened it with anger management courses. After that, it quit.
Generally though it was my conviction that I was going to screw up and so therefore, it was best not to put the presser foot down and whip up a seam as I was only going to have to rip it out again. I did have to rip out seams and redo them. Often enough to get a bit nervous, which tends to make you make mistakes and have to rip out seams. It becomes a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy and a downward spiral of constructive progress. It was partially due to self-inflicted pressure. When you decide to use the smallest possible stitch and that you will only be satisfied with sometime approaching perfection - well you need to redo stuff - repeatedly.
However, I think that the decision to start out aiming for the best was justified in my end product.
Case in point: I had casually mentioned at lunch that I was going to be wearing my new shirt the next day. At this stage, it still needed three buttons sewed on and to be pressed. Having made the declaration though, I was honor bound to finish the thing. My lunch mates know that I've been working on a shirt. "Ah-ha, " one of them went, "we'll be able to see if it's any good and we can place orders." I smiled wanly. I didn't think they could pay me enough to make them a shirt.
The next day, I wore my shirt. I got zilch of a reaction. At first I was puzzled and slightly miffed. Then I got sight of myself in the mirror. I furtively regarded my reflexion. Hmm, I thought. That looks like a shirt. It looks bought. In no way do the angst and tears that it caused radiate from its seams. It looks like an ordinary shirt. I decided that my co-workers have a memory with holes larger than a sieve and had promptly forgotten that I was going to wear my shirt. The shirt itself didn't appear homemade and so therefore did not trigger their memory.
I took the shirt to Darrell. He said some nice things about it. He congratulated me on getting it done. He said it looked worth the effort and that I had done a beautiful job. I think he was so flabbergasted by the fact that it was done he didn't know what else to say. I think he thinks that I could have hurried it up a bit. I wouldn't deny it. I would go into a rant about my machine. I think he did. He told me about the upcoming sewing machine sale. Uh, yes. If I had a machine that didn't have emotionally issues, I could get my sewing done faster. If I didn't have emotional issues, I could get my sewing done faster.
I now have a new shirt. I am a bit in denial about where it came from and how exactly it ended up in my closet. I think that's best. There are some things you shouldn't remember - especially when you are about to embark on a new project.
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